


Barbaric

by alternatedoom



Category: Wolverine (Movies)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sibling Incest, Wolverine: Origins Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-04
Updated: 2009-06-04
Packaged: 2019-01-21 00:25:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12445287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alternatedoom/pseuds/alternatedoom
Summary: Logan and Victor have a serious disagreement.





	Barbaric

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Victor turns animalistic a little earlier here, mostly because I find the American Civil War the most interesting of the wars depicted in the film. All anachronisms and historical inaccuracies (and yes, I know there are plenty) are mine and hereby shrugged off.  
> 2\. Regarding the references to bummers: it's a slang expression for foragers for the Union army. When Sherman's army marched to the sea, they left most of their supply lines behind, so each unit had a group of men whose job it was to go out and commandeer food from the locals.  
> 3\. Town ball was what they called baseball in its early days.  
> 4\. Thanks as always to wolfine for the loving beta read.

Logan and Victor are temporarily in their brigade's party of bummers. Their usual place in the war so far has been on the front lines, but the men have been encountering larger-than-usual pockets of resistance in the area, so their sergeant assigned a handful of seasoned veterans to each party. They've been on this detail for a little over a week and a half.  
  
Logan is not entirely comfortable with the idea of taking food from hungry civilians. Victor doesn't seem to care either way. Technically they're not supposed to take all the provisions a family has, but they're also not supposed to be invading private homes to pick over people's belongings, or burning mills and buildings--not unless they encounter local resistance, anyway. But no one much seems to bother about enforcing those instructions.  
  
Logan doesn't care for this work, seeing and dealing with starving, resentful civilians every day, but it's war. His orders are to guard the operation, so that's what he's doing.  
  
Victor walks behind him, so Logan pays attention to his surroundings. He half-listens to Sam to pass the time. It's hot out, but nevertheless the afternoon is beautiful, shining and clear, and the breeze is at their backs. He doesn't say much, but he doesn't have to. Sam has a playful, expansive sense of humor and talks enough for all of them.  
  
Logan's still getting used to humor. He and Victor didn't share too many laughs growing up.  
  
Logan totes his gun in his hands, as do Victor and the other two assigned as extra watchful eyes. The other soldiers - Sam, Laurence, Dean and the rest lead the horses, which in turn pull the wagons full of food.  
  
As they walk down the rural driveway, lined with trees and bushes, they encounter the first genuine guerilla resistance they've seen in their new position. One minute they're walking, some of the men talking and joking, the next moment shots are firing, the horses start neighing frantically, and nearby throats and chests run red with blood. Logan shouts a warning, but it's too late to save Sam. Two bullets hit Logan, in the shoulder and in the side. He doesn't know where his brother is at first, but he hears and sees the men he was walking and joking with moments ago crying out and falling to the ground to die. Ignoring the stinging pain, Logan crouches to the ground and continues shooting. His Henry repeating rifle holds a full fifteen shots, and when he runs out he throws it down, pops his bone claws and launches himself through a bush into the nearest assailant.  
  
As their fellow soldiers die, which is the only thing that stops the chaos of writhing and screaming and moaning in pain, he becomes conscious of Victor running on all fours around him, leaping from man to man, killing as he goes. With his claws, Logan dispatches a bunch on his own. From behind, someone runs him through the back and chest with a bayonet. His assailant lives just long enough to regret it, and for Logan to drop him and notice how young a corpse the boy makes. Then the scene is quiet again. Sweating, Logan drops to his knees, panting a little, letting the stab wounds in his back and chest heal. He turns slightly to see Victor standing behind him, his fingers and claws dribbling bloodspatter. The dead man at his feet has been partially disemboweled.  
  
Victor doesn't spare a glance for their dead comrades, but he does look at the dead horses on the ground. "So much for that." He leans down to pick up his gun. Victor's smiling. He enjoyed that, Logan thinks.  
  
Logan frowns. They have no way to get the food back to camp now. "I guess... we hide the provisions in the bushes and come back for them?" He stands up and picks up his rifle, brushing off the layer of thick, loamy orange dust.  
  
Victor shakes his head. "Nah, there's no way they'll still be here by the time we come back."  
  
"We should at least try," Logan says. He finishes methodically reloading his rifle and slings it back over his shoulder. "This lane's not well-traveled." He motions to some bushes. "Drag the bodies there, put the food over here. We should probably carry the guns back." He stands, wincing just a little, and starts gathering up the weapons off the dead men.  
  
"How you gonna hide the wagons," Victor points out. It's not a question. He's looking at the plantation house a little farther up the drive. "Lot of men to be guarding a single house. Let's go."  
  
Logan follows his brother's line of sight. He doesn't like this plan. "We'll dismantle the wagons. Cut them up." He studies the dead men. Most of the Southern men they encounter off the battlefield are grizzled old men or green boys. These men are largely young, but old enough to be in the army, for sure. Some of them have the same look or shape of the face. They don't have the look of Southern gentlemen. To Logan they look more like a group of bandits. "I don't think they were guarding this house, and even if they were, we can't carry the stuff we already have back with us. We don't need more." His brother's already started off. "Victor, stop," he calls.  
  
But Victor keeps walking up the road. Logan sighs. With a last look at the wagons full of provisions, Logan reluctantly sticks his armload of rifles and pistols in some bushes and follows him.  
  
* * *  
  
At first glance, the house seems abandoned, and it's not hard to believe the residents are all the dead men lying down the way. The air is full of scents, and Logan spends a moment just inhaling and exhaling, taking them in. Victor drifts up the steps of the quiet house. The afternoon is hot, and Logan lays his bloodstained wool jacket down on the steps.  
  
Leaving Victor to the silent house, Logan walks around the side with the barest hint of caution.  
  
In his short experience as a bummer it's been unusual to find livestock and rarer still to come across horses. The Confederate army has been here before them and picked the land just about clean. But considering their entire group is dead, it's worth it to him to check for a horse or two, just in case. If they could get the food back their mission wouldn't be a total wash. Though they should probably just go back. They need to return to camp, report the incident.  
  
Logan makes a face. He doesn't like failure, but maybe this fiasco will get them off foraging detail and back to actual battles with actual enemy soldiers.  
  
He doesn't see anyone else in the yard. The fields are eerily deserted. He turns a corner and sees a garden and a large barn a little way off. A gray cat emerges from nowhere and winds around his ankles. When it lifts large green eyes to him, Logan bends over to pet it. He's uneasy for reasons he can't put his finger on, and when he hears the first scream, his heart races and he takes off for the house.  
  
He flies in the door and takes the stairs two at a time. He can smell where his brother went, and older but stronger in this house, a female scent. Victor's is more recent but the scents intertwine, leading him to the doorway of a big, airy bedroom. Logan takes the scene in at a glance. Master bedroom, has to be. The sun shines in through the open window as if nothing is wrong. As in most of these large old homes, all the furniture looks heavy and expensive. The bed rests on an enormous ornate wooden frame, the bedclothes covered by a faded peach coverlet. A wooden bookcase filled with hundreds of volumes covers nearly an entire wall. Victor stands by the cherrywood desk, holding the woman by the upper arms. She's a young Southern belle type. Their faces are close, though she's trying to hold hers away. Logan can see her dress is torn, and he can smell her fear.  
  
Yes, their comrades are dead. Deaths happen in war, and although he has to worry about it less, Logan understands the risk as well as the next soldier. But this woman didn't kill their men and has probably never held a gun in her life. She hasn't done anything wrong besides get born to the wrong people, wrong place and time.  
  
But Victor... Victor is prone to losing perspective. During battle, thinking becomes secondary to instinct for him; after battle rational thought becomes second to whimsy. Five minutes ago he killed the men who were trying to kill him, so now he comes across a woman and decides to have her. Logan doubts he even thinks of this woman as a person. To Victor, she's the enemy by virtue of her location, and a captive worth nothing but what he wants from her.  
  
Logan understands his brother, albeit in a way that's twisted and loathsome to him.  
  
Victor's nails are still elongated, deadly as claws on any beast, with the drying stains from the men he's killed on them. There are red pin-sized drops of blood on her arms where his claws grip her, and Logan knows from breaking up near-fights with fellow soldiers that so little injury is Victor's version of gentle. Her screaming is so loud Logan wonders if there's anyone else in the house. He'd have said there had to be, in this run-down but still grand whitewashed house, but if there were, he'd have expected them to have come running by now.  
  
Logan crosses the room in six steps. "Let her go!" Logan seizes his brother's arm. But Victor doesn't let go. Her dress is more ripped than he initially realized and as Victor turns her Logan sees a flash of breasts. She sobs and Logan shouts again. "Victor, stop it!"  
  
Logan twists his arm, hard, and Victor growls and tosses her forcefully to the side, grabbing Logan instead. Logan grimaces as Victor's claws sink into skin and muscle. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Logan growls.  
  
"What do you think?" Victor says it with a smile on his face, baring his distinctive teeth.  
  
"You can't," Logan says heatedly.  
  
"Why not?" And it's a fair question. Logan isn't sure it would be the first time, but it makes his skin crawl to think about it. Victor's never raped a woman in front of him, and Logan's not going to let him start now.  
  
"It's not right," Logan answers, and adds fiercely, "It's barbaric."  
  
Victor actually laughs, and his eyes sparkle. "So? Jimmy, everything about our lives is barbaric."  
  
Viciously he shoves Logan backwards, his claws leaving deep red cuts in Logan' arms. Caught off balance, Logan doesn't find his footing, but he springs back to his feet at once. Victor's moved away, to the other side of the room, near to the woman lying in a weeping heap on the floor. Victor's looking at him.  
  
Logan gazes back. He and Victor have tussled before. Victor's better at avoiding blows than he is. He extends his bone claws and braces himself for what's probably coming next - for Victor to leap at him and knock him down. With his from-all-fours pounce, there's no one Victor can't put flat on the ground.  
  
But perhaps because the room isn't large enough for Victor to get a running start, or perhaps simply because Victor's unpredictable, he doesn't do what Logan expects. Instead, he reaches down and grabs the woman by the forearm, pulling her up. So Logan is the one who runs and leaps.  
  
Victor knocks him easily to the side, letting go of her in the process. Logan catches a glance of the woman as he hits the floor. She gets up and stands still for a frozen second, black hair falling from its pins, her face tear-streaked, before she turns and runs. Smart girl, he thinks, and starts to stand. But for Logan one second's distraction proves one too much.  
  
Victor gets his hands behind the heavy bookcase, at least ten feet high, and puts all his weight behind the swift shove that sends it crashing down. There's no time for Logan to scramble out of its way, but he tries anyhow. The bookcase catches him squarely in the back. He hears the sound of wood cracking as Victor yanks one of the solid wooden bedposts off the bedframe. Logan lifts his head in time to see Victor holding it like a town ball bat, though its thickness is more akin to a small tree trunk than a bat. The bedpost makes a sick thud when it makes contact with Logan' skull.  
  
He's beaten on the head repeatedly. He's had worse injuries, but never from his brother. He's dimly aware of his skull being crushed.  
  
Victor picks him up like a ragdoll and tosses him onto his back on top of the bed. Victor was always bigger, always the stronger one. Victor grins at him and grasps his feet, tugging off his boots almost lovingly, one at a time. He takes a few long, quick swipes shredding Logan's clothes, his thin white shirt with several bloody holes and his sturdy blue wool pants. Logan's vision is blurred but he knows his clothes are gone by the sudden coolness of the air on his skin. He's confused, but he still has some presence of mind, and he feels stunned and vulnerable as he realizes.  
  
It'll be him, then.  
  
Logan barely feels it as those sharp yellowed fingernails finish slicing away, catching not just cloth but also the skin beneath in some places. More clear to him is the sensation of the bones inside his head slowly popping themselves back out in the spots where his skull's been knocked in.  
  
His head lolls and he groans his brother's name. "Victor..."  
  
The bed shifts under Victor's weight when he kneels on it. Through distorted vision Logan sees Victor opening the fly of his standard issue Union army trousers.  
  
He gathers his faculties and his remaining strength to heave Victor off him and scramble to his feet. Victor must feel him tense up, because he takes the opportunity to take Logan's busily healing head in both his hands, pull it up and smash it into the thick, ornate headboard with all his strength.  
  
* * *  
  
Logan can think back and remember when he and Victor were close. When they were young and on the run, when he and Victor found the occasional safe bed to lie in, Victor would draw him in close and hold him. He's not sure exactly when the whispers stopped. (I love you.) (Brothers protect each other, I'm going to look out for you.) Comforting words, even coming from one frightened child to another. Victor was always a little bit hard inside, but he hadn't used to be so cold, Logan is almost certain of it. So savage. But he isn't sure. He hasn't shared a bed with Victor in a long time.  
  
* * *  
  
"Why are you always getting in my way?" Victor hisses.  
  
Logan tries to move but he can't. He tries to roll onto his side, get up, but only succeeds in twisting slightly sideways. Victor rolls him onto his stomach and he lies on his torn clothes. The light breeze on his back reminds him how bizarre the world has turned in the space of two minutes. He screams as Victor sinks the claws of one hand briefly into the back of his messed-up head.  
  
"That's my good Jimmy," Victor mutters. He sounds more amused than anything else, and Logan can't think straight but he can tell his brother's turned on. The growling thread of heat makes Victor's voice rumble a little.  
  
Logan has a strange moment of deja vu from the feeling of his brother leaning over him like this, and he doesn't even know if it's real. He feels a dab of cool wetness at his ass. Panic surges inside him, and he can't stop himself from moaning a little. When those wet claw-tipped fingers press inside him, stretching his asshole, he feels sick inside, and not because of the sharp pricks of pain. The room is still spinning, he feels too light, but his mind's working erratically enough for him to think: this is good. He can take this kind of punishment. That woman never could have stood this without losing her mind or her life. When Victor got bored with her screaming he would have slit her throat just to shut her up. Logan isn't sure how he knows this, but he knows all the same. When did Victor become so cruel?  
  
Victor licks along the side of his face, bites him at the temple. He digs a hand underneath Logan and takes Logan's cock in it, squeezing. Logan grunts, the feelings of confusion and unrest deeper than ever. He doesn't like this, doesn't know what this is. But he's half-hard. Logan has had his share of women, but he's never been with another man.  
  
He's always happy enough to let the woman be on top, on the bottom, any which way she wants, because he's the one in control. Always. He's never even conceived of being dominated like this, because there's only one person Logan has ever known who can take him in a physical fight.  
  
Victor gives his cock a final squeeze and lets go. Logan's legs are hanging off the bed as Victor stands behind him. He feels Victor's hands on his ass, pulling his cheeks apart. Logan tenses up again, all the muscles in his lower abdomen tightening, and the inward slide of Victor's wet cock hurts more than being hit by the bookcase, but less than having his head bashed in. Still, it's a concentrated pain. He hears fabric tearing and realizes, after a moment, that he's clawing at the bed.  
  
Victor rides him with his long slim cock, grinding slowly. Logan can picture his cock, they've both seen it all. Logan knows every inch of his brother's body, he just never dreamed he'd ever experience it so personally, have that cock stuffed up inside him one day. He twists his head to the side, craning it slightly to look up at Victor out of the corner of one eye. Victor's staring down at his brother's back, at where his cock meets his brother's body. His lips are parted, exposing his pronounced canines. When he sees Logan looking he glances up and half-smiles, still concentrating on whatever he's thinking about while he's fucking.  
  
If Victor's still thinking at all. Logan's seen his brother shut off mentally when he fights, operating on sheer instinct, and this might be similar. Logan isn't sure his brother's having any thoughts deeper than fuck and tight and harder and faster right now.

Logan turns his face away and for a second finds himself struggling to move again, but he's pinned on Victor's steadily pumping cock and his head's still swimming a little. No one else, he thinks. No one dominates him. This is sick, crazy, wrong... but this is Victor. He stops trying to get up and lies still. Victor puts a hand into Logan's hair almost tenderly, mussing it, and makes a growling noise in his throat. He speeds up more and it hurts a little again, but Logan is past the point of caring about pain.  
  
When the orgasm hits him, Victor howls like an animal and pulls Logan's hips to his, shoving his cock as far in as he can. When he finishes, Victor collapses on top of him, limp.  
  
Logan lies there for a few moments. He could get up - he could probably have gotten up a minute ago or more, and he pushes that thought away - but he doesn't stand up immediately. He feels, as if for the first time, the brush of Victor's woolen trousers against his ass and the backs of his legs. He feels a button on the torn cotton shirt pressing into his stomach, and the smoothness of the silk peach-colored blanket. When he opens his eyes, he sees the gouges his claws have put deep into the mattress. Victor's body feels sweaty and hot on top of him. Having jerked off before while wearing the wool uniform, Logan gets why.  
  
Victor pulls out, withdrawing, and rolls off him. He grabs a handful of the coverlet on the bed to wipe off his cock. Logan rolls onto his side. The bruises and internal abrasions are already healed and healing, but he knows without his mutation he'd be in a world of pain and probably bleeding from the asshole for the next week. With a surge of strength, in one smooth fluid motion Logan sits up, plants his hands on Victor's chest and shoves backwards. The push catches Victor off guard. He tumbles to the floor, but not seeming to mind or even be particularly surprised. He falls like a ragdoll and doesn't land hard. His cock sticks out from his pants, slowly softening but still looking erect. His eyes rise to meet Logan's.  
  
"You shouldn't get in my way, little brother," Victor says softly.  
  
Logan sits on the bed, feeling the last of his bruises and cuts repaired. He puts a hand to the back of his head, to make sure it's head-shaped again. Normally he doesn't second-guess his healing factor, but he's never had such a severe head wound. Victor's semen is seeping out from his asshole, a new and mildly disturbing sensation. He's put plenty of his own inside plenty of pussies, but this...  
  
He stares at Victor, speechless. Has no idea what to say. His clothes are unwearable. Maybe he can get some from elsewhere in this house. He gathers the scraps up anyway and grabs his boots. He isn't worried about Victor raping that woman now. The look on his brother's face tells him all he needs to know. Subduing and using him will be enough for Victor; the lust/bloodlust has been sated, if only temporarily.  
  
"Ever done that to a woman?" Victor asks, as if they're back at the camp having a normal conversation.  
  
"No." He bites off the word.  
  
"You should try it." Victor stands up easily, buttoning his pants.  
  
Logan walks out and goes down the hall naked. He'd cover his privates with his ruined shirt if he sensed that woman nearby, or any woman for that matter, but the hallway remains quiet and empty, as the other bedrooms seem to be. He stops in front of a bedroom that has a predominantly male smell, and rummages in the drawers until he finds a pair of ragged tan trousers that should fit him. Wrong color, but they'll do until he can get another pair.  
  
Logan catches the scent of his brother coming down the hall. Oddly, while his stomach still feels hollow and queasy, he doesn't feel particularly betrayed. Victor saunters in. Logan doesn't look at him at first, not until Victor claps a hand on his shoulder. Logan looks at him then, his eyebrows pulling together in a dark look he doesn't even realize he's wearing.  
  
Victor's smile looks like a blend of smugness and wheedling. Friendly, because he's the cat who's had the cream. Don't be mad, it says.  
  
Logan doesn't feel as angry as he would have expected. Since Victor took this bout of rage out on him, physically no lasting harm's been done to anyone. He knows this would be a shameful and humiliating experience if he were a man given to humiliation and shame, but he's not. Mostly he feels disgusted. And troubled.  
  
"Brothers should share things," Victor whispers. His hand on Logan's shoulder turns into a stroking movement, echoes of gentler times past. "Don't you think?"  
  
Still frowning, Logan pulls his shoulder away and turns his back before donning his new trousers. Victor crouches, opens a drawer and starts pulling out clothes and throwing them on the floor. Logan wants to shout -- what is wrong with you?! but he already knows the answer. Not for the first time, Logan realizes he doesn't altogether like the man Victor's become. But he cares for Victor all the same, as the only constant in his world. His brother's a sick fuck, but he loves his brother.  
  
Victor finds what he wants and holds it up for examination -- a white cotton shirt. The garment looks thin with use but has no obvious cuts, holes or bloodstains. He tosses it on the bed.  
  
Logan gives him a long look, and after a moment, picks it up.  
  
After all, brothers should look out for each other.  



End file.
